


Just a Stranger On the Bus

by Chash



Series: Trying To Make His Way Home [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7151087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Me</b>: What do you do when you realize you're accidentally stalking someone?</p><p><b>Miller</b>: Apparently you text me<br/>Which, FYI<br/>Wrong choice</p><p>OR: A girl falls asleep on the bus and Bellamy is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Stranger On the Bus

**Me** : What do you do when you realize you're accidentally stalking someone?

 **Miller** : Apparently you text me  
Which, FYI  
Wrong choice

Bellamy rubs his face and glances over at the girl, still asleep against the window. He wasn't originally sitting next to her, but--this bus route starts in a pretty good neighborhood, and it goes to a pretty bad one, and he just--he cannot, in good conscience, leave her alone. She's dressed nicely, and while he's not sure anything bad would actually happen to her, he'd never be able to live with himself wondering if it _did_.

Which is why he's on the bus two stops past his own, texting his best friend and his sister about how to deal with the situation.

 **Octavia** : wtf bell  
what

 **Me** : There's this girl asleep on the bus and I'm really worried she missed her stop and she's going to get mugged.  
But I feel weird waking her up.  
So I missed my stop and now I'm hanging out trying to figure out what to do.

 **Octavia** : jfc  
how old is she?  
is she cute?

 **Me** : Like your age.  
And cute, seriously? Come on.  
I'm not trying to hit on her.

 **Octavia** : I'm trying to guess how she'll react  
bus creepers are a thing

 **Me** : I know. That's why I'm here.  
Also it's the last bus of the night and I know it ends up in a really bad neighborhood.  
So--how do I convince her being with me is better than being alone?

 **Octavia** : maybe try showing her this conversation  
it's very non-threatening  
you're a total mess

 **Me** : I hope you're not joking because that's honestly my best idea so far.  
Should I wake her up? Is that rude?

 **Octavia** : how many other people on the bus?

 **Me** : Six? Maybe?  
All dudes.

 **Octavia** : how far to the next stop?

 **Me** : I don't actually know, I've never ridden this bus this far.

 **Octavia** : you're a disaster  
wake her up  
tell her you're worried she missed her stop

 **Me** : Okay.  
I'm gonna do it.  
Text me in like five minutes to prove you're a real person.

 **Octavia** : that's not how real people work

 **Me** : Thanks for your support.

He takes a few breaths and then moves half a seat over, close enough he can shake the girl's shoulder. She blinks a few times, like she's trying to figure out where she is and can't get there. She has blue eyes and looks incredibly confused.

"Uh, hi," he says. "You're, uh--you fell asleep? And I have no idea if you missed your stop or--I just wanted to make sure you didn't get too far out since this is the last bus."

"Oh fuck," she says, pushing her glasses up. "Shit, thank you. Where are we?"

"Uh--honestly, I don't know." 

"You don't know?"

"I should have gotten off a few stops back I was just, uh--I was kind of worried about you? But I didn't want to be creepy, waking you up."

She raises her eyebrows, looking somewhat amused. "Okay, so--what was your plan?"

"I didn't really have a plan. It's late, I noticed you were asleep, uh--I just felt shitty leaving you here alone as we got farther and farther out of town."

"So you skipped your stop to watch me sleep."

"And the my sister told me I needed to wake you up and not be a creeper."

"Solid advice," she says, and cracks her neck. "I feel like all this stuff could be part of a con."

"Yeah, but--" He makes a face. "Talking through all the better ways I could assault you would be a bad plan, right? Just--like I said, I have a sister. And I'm bringing her up because she has a part-time job in a really sketchy neighborhood and has code words she uses to let me know if she's calling because she's worried about her safety. I'm not one of those guys who doesn't take violence against women seriously unless I pretend I'm related to them." The girl is just kind of watching him, and he rubs his face. "How much am I fucking this up? Like, on a scale from one to ten."

"Honestly, I don't know. I'm not sure what you're trying to do."

"I just don't want you to get mugged. Or die on the bus."

"Appreciated."

His phone buzzes, and it's a text from O, of course. She's attached a picture of herself holding a piece of paper that says: _I'm a real person, my brother is a dumbass 6/17/16_. He snorts and offers it to the girl.

"Actual proof I was talking to my sister," he says.

"Wow. Is everyone in your family really paranoid?"

"That too. But a few months ago she was talking to some guy on tinder who thought she was catfishing him so he made her send a picture including the date and time. So I guess that's her new way to prove she exists."

The girl returns his phone. "She is cute, I guess I can see why he thought she wasn't real."

"Thanks, I think."

The bus announces the next stop and he frowns. "I sort of know where that is."

"I have no idea," she says, and hits the button to request a stop. "What's your name?"

"Bellamy."

"Hi, Bellamy, I'm Clarke. You want to get an Uber?"

"Sure. Where are you going?"

"My friend's apartment, so there is a living human who knows where I am and that I'm getting in an Uber with a weird guy from the bus." She pauses and recovers her own phone. "Or there's about to be."

He texts Octavia back while Clarke texts her friend: _We're getting an Uber, thanks for the assist._

 **Octavia** : omfg how did you turn this into a hookup wtf

 **Me** : Just a ride share, but thanks for having so much faith in my game.

"She says if you're going to shiv me at least do it somewhere where I'll die from the stab wound instead of bleeding out," says Clarke. "Make it quick."

"Huh. Does she have a list of those places memorized or does she just expect me to know?"

"I think she thinks you shiv a lot of people."

"I like to think of myself as an enthusiastic amateur," he says, and smiles when she snorts softly.

The bus stops and he follows her off; it's dark and a little chilly for June, but not bad. Nice, even. He likes summer nights.

"I don't actually know how to get an Uber," he tells her. "I'm more of a public transportation guy. But I'll pay you back."

"Where do you live?" she asks, and then rethinks it. "I know like five street names, I don't know why I'm even asking. I was supposed to get off at Elm and Washington."

"Yeah? That's the stop after mine."

"So I definitely overshot."

"In your defense, you were asleep. And apparently not from around here."

"No." She pulls up her phone, glances at him. "The Uber's gonna take a while, apparently no one's nearby. But--it's only like a mile for me? And if you're only a stop away--"

"I could walk," he says.

She bites her lip on a smile, and she really is cute. Which is not relevant, just true. "You don't even know how far it is."

"Yeah, but it's not like I'm doing anything else." He pulls out his phone to check how far he's walking. "Like a mile and a half, it's fine."

"But that's from here. It might be less direct, if you walk me."

"I'll live." When she raises her eyebrows, he shrugs. "I already missed my stop on the train, and it's midnight on a Thursday. What else am I doing?"

"Sleeping, I assume."

"Yeah, that's not gonna make much difference. Come on, you've got a map up, right? Lead the way."

"If you're sure. We're going--" She frowns. "This way."

"Fuck, we're totally gonna get lost, aren't we?"

"I tried to warn you." 

"If someone shivs me, try to get them to make it quick. I want to die from the wound."

"Deal." They start walking, and he fails to think of anything to say for a minute. Luckily, Clarke picks it up with, "So, what were you doing on the last bus?"

"I work a few nights a week as a bartender," he says. "Just weeknights so I can leave before public transport shuts down. What about you?"

"Job interview followed by a hospital benefit."

"No wonder you fell asleep," he says, mild, and she laughs.

"That's honestly mostly jetlag." 

"Where are you jetlagged from?"

"I'm finishing up my masters program in Oxford."

"Wow."

"What?"

"Just, masters at Oxford, hospital benefit--it really _sounds_ like you have your life together, but you fell asleep on a bus in the middle of the night, so--"

She laughs, bright and clear, and Bellamy reminds himself that a girl like that also doesn't want to date a bartender and barista who's still trying to work his way through college part-time.

"Again, jetlag. I'm here for like two days." There's a pause, and then she admits, "But that's not the first time I've fallen asleep on a bus."

"Jesus. How have you not gotten robbed?"

"I usually have a buddy."

"Clearly you need one."

"We traveled a lot when I was a kid. I'm just used to sleeping in moving vehicles."

"That's a weird thing to do a lot."

"So, you're a bartender."

He snorts. "Smooth transition."

"I thought so."

"I'm a bartender and I work at a coffee shop. Working on getting a degree in my spare time."

"Which it sounds like you have a ton of." He shrugs, but she smiles. "No, seriously, that's really cool. I mean--our entire educational system is fucked and it sucks that we don't have better support for, you know, everyone getting a higher degree, but--" She makes a face. "Honestly, I don't have a way to finish that that doesn't sound patronizing. I'm rich and lucky, and it sucks that you're not, but--what are you studying?"

He has to laugh. "That almost makes up for how badly I fucked up on the bus," he teases. "I'm studying history. I want to teach, assuming someone will hire me."

"Awesome. I hope they do."

"What's your masters in?"

"Art History," says Clarke. "Job interview was at the art museum."

"And the hospital benefit?"

"My mom is very rich and wanted me to go."

"I was kind of getting that impression. But you're not staying with your rich mom. You're staying with your friend and riding the bus."

"Yeah."

"Poor little rich girl?"

She laughs. "Poor little rich girl, yeah. How old is your sister?"

"Twenty-two." He wets his lips. "Just finishing up college. That's where most of my money was going. I used to have three jobs."

"Jesus, really?"

She actually sounds upset, and he startles. "What?"

"So, you're hot," she says, like this is just a fact, and not something he would like to hear her spend like ten minutes expanding on. "You're kind of awkwardly charming. You're working two jobs to put yourself and your sister through college. Let me guess, you raised her too?"

"Uh, just for a few years," he says. Clarke gives him a dubious look, and he wilts. "Yeah, our mom died when she was thirteen."

"And you were?"

"Nineteen."

"Do you get kittens out of trees or is that too cliched?"

He takes a second to just sort of--gape at her, but finally manages, "I've never actually seen a kitten up a tree before. Or, not one that seemed upset about it, I guess. There was this cat who lived near our apartment when I was growing up that was in trees all the time, but it was a fucking asshole."

"Well, that's something."

He wets his lips and tries not to stare, but--this is kind of new for him. "Is this a rich-person thing? Romanticizing poverty?"

"No way, I wouldn't want to do what you're doing. Poverty sucks, I can't even imagine. Just, come on. You have to admit, that's a ridiculous level of perfection."

He pauses, and then says, "Okay, yeah, that's weird."

"I think you're still ahead on weird, though," Clarke says. She offers him a smile. "Seriously, this is just--kind of next-level good guy shit."

"It's not," he protests. He's not sure how the conversation got to this point, where he's trying to argue that a pretty girl _shouldn't_ be saying nice things about him. "It's just--normal."

"You missed your stop on the bus to make sure I didn't get mugged and now you're walking me home. No one else did that. You are a great guy, Bellamy whatever your last name is."

"Blake."

"Bellamy Blake."

"I'm chalking this one up to jetlag. And you clearly have bad judgement because you were, again, asleep on a bus."

"So, tell me about your other hobbies," Clarke says. "Convince me here."

"I get in a lot of fights on reddit."

"Is it because they're misogynist douchebags?"

"Also racist."

"Yeah, you're a monster. What else?"

"I dunno. I play video games and watch documentaries. I don't make a habit of rescuing girls on public transportation."

Her smile is bright and warm. "So, I'm special?"

"Again," he says. "No one else is falling asleep on that bus. Ever."

"So you would make a habit of it, except it doesn't come up. Like kittens in trees."

"I think you might be the asshole cat up the tree," he grumbles, and Clarke grins.

"I'm absolutely the asshole cat up the tree. Tell me more about your sister."

"She's--oh, wait, shit, did you tell your friend we didn't get an Uber?"

"Oh, no, you're right, I should tell her our new ETA." She flashes another grin his way, and it still feels like he's tripping to catch up with her. Bellamy's understanding of the world doesn't involve rich girls who think it's--what, _cute_? That he took care of his sister and frets about people so much that Miller sometimes calls him _Mom_. "I don't want her thinking you actually shivved me. She'd definitely hunt you down."

"Good to know." He wets his lips. "My sister's name is Octavia. She's studying economics, because she's also bitter and poor."

"Awesome. My friend Wells did that because he's bitter and rich."

"So that's your club? Bitter rich kids."

"I'm staying with my friend Raven, she's poor and bitter. Bitter is really the biggest thing. Which, again--you're bitter _and_ self-sacrificing, it's cheating. You're not allowed to be that much my type."

He opens and closes his mouth. "Has anyone ever told you not to pick up weird people on the bus?"

"Has anyone ever told you that?" she retorts, and he has to laugh. She does too, and it's the most weird companionship he's had in a while. He's not sure how he feels comfortable, especially when he also knows everything is so bizarre. But she's--cool. He likes her.

"I was trying to help. Selflessly."

"But you refuse to take credit for being kind of a surly superhero."

"Hey, tell me about Oxford. I've never left the country, I want to be jealous."

Clarke raises her eyebrows, but doesn't actually comment on the graceless subject change, which means she's maybe nicer than he is. Or maybe she just wants to talk about Oxford. "Have you ever heard of the Pitt-Rivers Museum?"

"Nope. I'm really uncultured."

"It's awesome, I bet you'd love it," she says, and goes on to tell him all about it before he can protest that she doesn't really know him. And, honestly, the more she talks, the more it sounds like he really _would_ love the place, so--maybe Clarke just has an incredibly weird kind of talent for reading people.

He really hopes she never gets herself shivved on the bus.

"Where would you go, if you left the country?" Clarke asks, once their conversation about favorite museums has wound down.

"I don't know. Maybe the Philippines. That's where my dad was from. South America, I like Maya and Aztec stuff. Any indigenous ruins."

"Cool, I've never been to any of those places."

He raises his eyebrows. "Are we already planning vacations together? This is moving a little fast for me."

"Taking notes," says Clarke. "You should give me your number, though."

"You don't even live here."

"I don't live here _yet_ ," she corrects. "I'm probably moving in a few months. I'll buy you a coffee to thank you for missing your bus stop to stalk me."

"Wow, what an offer," he says, but holds out his hand. "Give me your phone."

He sees a text from her friend Raven, _He better be really fucking cute_ , before he switches to her contacts and adds himself, feeling oddly hopeful about it. He hasn't had a date in a while, not one that might lead to an actual relationship. Which this shouldn't, in any rational world, but it's been a very irrational night. Maybe his luck will hold.

"This is me," Clarke says, jerking her head toward an apartment building. "But--thanks. I really appreciate your awkward chivalry."

"I get that a lot." He wets his lips; it's got a weirdly first-date vibe, and part of him almost wonders if he should kiss her. "When do you head back to England?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Short trip."

"Really just for the interview, yeah." She worries her lip, and then leans up to press a kiss against his cheek. "I'm done in a couple months, like I said. Planning to move back here whether I get this job or not. So--make sure you save my number, okay? I'm good with being weird bus girl in your contacts. I deserve that."

"Cool. Have a good rest of the night, Clarke."

"You too." Then she pauses, and says, "Fuck, whatever," and pulls him down for a real kiss, all warm and wet and perfect. He anchors his hands on her hips, kisses back, actually groans when she pulls away. It's been too long, and she's so fucking stupidly cute.

"I'll buy you dinner," he offers. "Basically any time you want."

She grins. "So I'll see you in a few months, Bellamy Blake."

And then she's gone, and he's just left staring for a minute, watching the apartment with some stupid awe. 

Then his phone buzzes and snaps him out of it.

 **Miller** : Okay fuck I'm drunk and curious  
Tell me about the stalking  
I hate you

He gets his headphones out and puts on music as he walks, something loud and optimistic. Life is looking pretty good, he has to say.

 **Me** : She's not local, but we're getting dinner when she is.  
You wish you had my skills.

 **Miller** : You don't have skills, you have a pretty face and good luck

It's unfortunately completely true, so he's glad when he gets another text before he can respond, just one line from an unknown number: _I have international texting, so don't be a stranger._

 **Me** : I'm already a stranger.

 **Weird bus girl** : Correction: I have international texting, so stop being a stranger.

 **Me** : In that case, you won't believe the weirdo I met on the bus today.

 **Weird bus girl** : What a coincidence, me too.

He switches back to Miller, texts, _Better lucky than good_ , and grins all the way home.

**Author's Note:**

> Clarke POV [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10210490)!


End file.
